


Missed Connections (Meeting Further Down the Thread)

by Sherlockresidue



Series: Detroit: Meeting Further Down the Thread [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Writing, Dorks (falling) in love, M/M, is this fandom dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockresidue/pseuds/Sherlockresidue
Summary: Gavin and Connor don't meet until the end of the Revolution. In fact, Gavin never even got accepted into the Detroit City Police Department. When Gavin accidentally ends up stealing Connor's clothes from a local laundromat and Connor tracks him down, can they deal with each other? (I suck at summaries just read the story ashsuakdfhisa)





	Missed Connections (Meeting Further Down the Thread)

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY FOR THE LONG ASS TITLE

Gavin's day had been shitty enough to start off with. First, it was _laundry day_. He would've put it off another couple days, but he only has one unstained t-shirt, an old hoodie from the police academy when he actually had dreams (his usual odd, hoodied leather jacket gross and sweaty), a pair of underwear he's probably worn five days straight, and sweatpants that his manager would surely shriek if she saw him wearing those at work. Gavin had hauled his ass out of bed, piled all his dirty shit into a bag and headed to the creepy basement of the apartment building, when he saw the sign. "OUT OF ORDER". 

He nearly fucking had an aneurysm when he saw the sign. Angry and huffing, he walked out of the complex. Looking like an befuddled bird, he hails a hover-cab and stuffs his dirty ass smelling bag into the seat next to him. The android manning the hover-cab gives him a look of malice but only asks where he's going. "Laundromat on Hawkins", Gavin says gruffly, cringing at how fucking gross his voice sounds. He had gone drinking after his shift at the café the previous night, and while he didn't have much of a headache (thank fucking God for today's medicine), his throat paid hell for all that fucking screaming. 

He awkwardly looked down at his hoodie, reading, "DETROIT POLICE ACADEMY" across it. Wearing it brought a weird sense of want and sadness that he absolutely fucking despised. After graduating the police academy, the local station wouldn't accept him because of an offense some _eleven fucking years ago_. Between Gavin and some guy he'd never known, they picked him, because he had a clean fucking record, despite the kid clearly not fucking prepared for the job anyways. Whatever, the police industry was getting overtaken by androids anyways. Here in the shitty café industry, androids tended to make coffee boiling hot and, in some cases, scald someone's fucking face off. No matter how rouge the android seemed to be, temperature seemed to fuck with them when they had to control it. The last android to work at that café had made the pot so hot _it melted the fucking glass of the coffee pot_. Gavin was impressed, but his manger wasn't.

" _We have arrived at your destination._ " The car buzzed at the android, and a hologram appeared in front of Gavin. He clicked his for of payment and scanned his card, already regretting not walking. He was knee-deep in student loans and, only being a barista at a shitty café, did not help. Hauling his shit out of the cab, he stumbled onto the sidewalk full of busy, annoyed people. Gavin could care less and shoved his way through to the laundromat doors. 

The laundromat was slightly outdated but still just as good as the laundromat across the way. It was cheaper too, but at the cost of no security on the machines. Hell, if some random asshole stole his clothes anyways, they ain't getting much. He opened his bag and piled all his clothes into a random machine piled on top of another after giving it the amount of credits it demanded. Instead of how they used to be designed, dryers and washers were now combined into one, and only taking about an hour. An hour of time Gavin didn't wanna fucking waste there. So, after waiting maybe ten minutes, he decides to go to the bar next door, an old haunt of his he hasn't been to in ages.

He looks back at his wet clothes spinning around in the hydro machine and tries to memorize its number, before heading out the doors.

The bar he enters looks a bit different from the last time he was here, about a year ago. He had moved a bit further away from the bar to get away from the police station that seemed to loom over him every time he walked to his shitty job as a worker at the local phone store. His job may not be the best now but, compared to that shit hole, its a fucking godsend. As soon as he sat down at the bar, Will, the bartender, whistled at him. 

"Haven't seen you in a while, kid. Move back to this part of town?" Will asks, polishing glasses and already handing him some beer from the tap. Gavin accepts it graciously, scowling at the question. "Hell fucking no. Just in this part of town right now and felt like swinging by. How're the kids?"

"Gabby's just graduated high school and Calvin's decided to enroll in the police academy, finally." Will smiles and Gavin's eye-roll. "I know, I know. I told him his Uncle Gavin would beat the shit out of him one day."

"Nah, he's fine." Gavin sips his beer coolly, enjoying the press of the cool glass against his lips. "Its those fucking scumbags already working there. Calvin's a good kid. Hopefully he can make some fucking changes at the department." Will nods, side-eyeing Gavin like he knows something Gavin doesn't want to admit. Neither of them say anything though. 

Three beers and a bowl of cashews later, he returns back to the laundromat , regretting being alive. He wanders over to the right side of the wall, glancing at all the done ones and trying to remember where it was on the wall. Was it in the middle? No, it probably was on the left. He opens the only one done on the left, not even bothering to look at the clothes before shoving them back into his dirty, gross ass laundry bag and trudging out the doors. He decides to walk instead of taking another can, knowing his payday isn't until next month.

***

When he gets back to his apartment, already stripping himself of the hoodie and digging around in the bag for his usual jacket, is when he notices that this isn't his. He freezes, dumping all the clothes onto the floor and wading through them. There are too many fucking colours, like a fucking toddler was washing his clothes. A colour block button up, a bright red t-shirt, and absolutely no fucking jacket. He wants to smack his head against the fucking wall. Of course he gets stuck with bright fucking hideous clothes. The pants don't even fit him, too long and too tight around the waist. This insane man seemed to have at least one pair of jeans, which are way too tight around Gavin's ass but he can't really fucking complain. 

Gavin picks up a pair of underwear that have _fucking puppy patterns on it_ , for christsake. He hurries and shoves them on before pulling up his own sweatpants over them. He tears off his hoodie and shoves on some bright patterned t-shit that fits too tight around his shoulders but practically goes down to his thighs. He feels like a little kid dressing up in his parents' clothes. He cuffs the jeans probably three times to be able to put on his shoes. He frowns down at his appearance but has nothing else to wear, cursing his manager because she would be on his ass if he called in today. Beth can be a real hard ass, and no doubt Gavin will never hear the end of ditching work. He grabs the essentials and swears to himself that no one will fucking care if he looks a bit different than usual. He has to deal with it, anyways.

* * *

Connor had only decided to do laundry because Lieutenant Anderson insisted that he should wash his clothes, since he's always around murder scenes. Connor already had rattled off rules of particles and DNA to him to explain that, while there are microscopic particles of the deceased, he would have to practically 'lay on top of' them for his clothes to absorb DNA that would contaminate other crime scenes. Hank had just sat there (Connor suspected he had 'tuned him out') and said, "Kid, it's still fucking gross."

Slightly discouraged from the Lieutenant's comment, he had piled all of his clothes into a hydro machine after depositing all of the credits it required before work. He had gone to the police station to do some simple 'paper-work' (he didn't understand why they still called it that even though it involved almost no paper) for an hour before coming back to find the hydro machine empty. 

Quickly, he ran through his memory to check the number was right, _number 58_. It was right and was, indeed, empty. He hurried over to the desk where a rather bored older lady sat, flicking through a magazine in a language he did not understand. "Excuse me, my clothes aren't I put them." He says, hoping she could help. Hank had told him not to go to this one, but the other one across the street still had a firm sign reading 'NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED', and Connor was not one to test whether or not that was true. 

She looked up at him lazily, her lips pressed into a hard line. "I do not know. You an android, use the photos." She says, gesturing to the security cameras before looking back down at her magazine. Connor blinks, looking up at the security cameras. After a quick scan, he saw that they had no protection against hacking and simply rewound the video to see who had opened number 58. He thanks her before backing away to not be distracted by the light coming off of her magazine. 

_A scruffy looking man wanders in, scratching his head as he looks at the hydro machines. He seem to debate a few machines before deciding to open number 58, throwing the clothes into a bag._ Connor zooms in on the man and tries to identify him. _Gavin Reed, age 29. Current (known) occupation: 'The Coffee Spoon' at 1327 West Mile Road_. Connor rewinds to see which hydro machine was actually Reed's, which ends up being number 51. He stops the video and opens up number 51, gently putting the dark, warm clothes into a pillow case he had used to bring his clothes in. He sets a path to 'The Coffee Spoon'. He realizes it looks unprofessional to carry around a pillow case, but is determined to get his clothes back. 

***

After some odd looks down the street he walks into the coffee shop, holding the door open for a polite older lady who smiled at him brightly. He scans the workers; _Bethany Williams, age 34, Tristan Crase, age 23,_ and finally, _Gavin Reed, age 29_. He matches the video, too, but that's not what stands out to Connor about him. He's wearing Connor's favourite t-shirt, the first item of clothing he ever wore that was not his traditional _RK800_ outift. It was the first thing he had ever gotten to pick that he felt was _him_. And not only that it was his favourite shirt, it seems to fit Reed very... poorly. He's built where Connor is lean, and it's tight around him. That's not the only thing that is tight on him, judging by the jeans that Connor rarely wears. The an looks uncomfortable while serving three college teenagers their coffee.

Connor decides to approach him now, while he is not busy behind the counter. "Excuse me," He starts, and Reed turns around with an annoyed face and Connor is, oddly, struck by his appearance. He's got a scar going down his nose and through his left eyebrow, and Connor has a sudden fixation on it. Perhaps its his curiosity to know how he got it, though it might also be that he wants to _feel_ it. It's so completely surprising to Connor that he can hardly get his vocal cords to work. "You, um, are wearing my clothes." Is what his brain finally decides to say.

Reed stares at him for a moment before sighing, scrubbing his face. "I fucking swear I didn't meant to, I'm not some creep." Reed starts, before looking down at the bag clutched in Connor's hands. "Are those my clothes?"

"Yes! I.. traced back who you were through security cameras and figured I should give your clothes back to you since, you, you probably need your clothes back too.." One Connor says it out loud, he realized that, as Hank would say, he is being 'creepy' and 'too android-ish'. He has a bad habit of over explaining; he has no clue how to read facial expressions, so he just assumes that explaining is necessary to get his point across, no matter how obvious it is. Hank can tell when Connor is upset or excited about something even if he isn't smiling or frowning, and it's something he doesn't completely understand. 

Reed stares at him for a moment before saying, "Thanks, your fucking jeans are cutting off the circulation to my balls. I've been paranoid about splitting this fucking shirt down the middle every time I move a fucking inch." He says it like an insult, but his words aren't. It's confusing and Connor resists the urge to frown, instead handing over the pillowcase.

"Hold onto it for a minute, will you? I gotta go tell my fucking manager I'm taking my break. My apartment is only five minutes from here, I can give you back your fucking clothes when we get there." Before Connor can even object, say _apologies, but I need to go back to work, please just return them back to the laundromat_ , Reed is off and yelling at his manager behind the counter. They say obscenities back to each other before she relents and tells him to _'Get the fuck outta here'_.

* * *

The walk to Gavin's apartment is quiet, and a little stiff. The most they've talked was him asking, "What's your name?" and the guy answering, "I'm-- I'm Connor."

Gavin wracks his brain to figure out what to say. The guy's adorable as fuck, and he so does not want to make this awkward. "Where the hell do you work, anyway? You had so many fucking fancy trousers." Gavin eventually asks, and Connor's face brightens. _Jackpot._

"I work as a detective at the Detroit City Police Department." He seems to miss how Gavin's face melts in fucking horror. "I was originally sent to the DCPD to catch deviant androids, but now as the laws have changed, I work full time as a detective, primarily in crimes against androids, and crimes committed by androids." Gavin tries to swallow his hurt. He knows its fucking irrational to hate everyone he comes across who works for the DCPD, but fuck, he's as petty as he's fucking bitter. 

"Detective, huh?" He manages to say coolly, "I went to the Detroit Police Academy fresh out of high school. When I finally was able to apply to the job, I got fucking rejected for a petty theft when I was starving at sixteen. Now look at where I fucking am, making minimum wage at a fucking café and accidentally stealing strangers' clothes." Gavin keeps his hands in his - well, _Connor's_ \- pockets and doesn't look him in the eye. He has no clue why the truth is spilling from his mouth and he _fucking hates it._

Connor is quiet for a while, the busy noises of the people pushing past them filling the silence between them. He regrets saying anything at this point. Why the fuck does he always have to mouth off? He wasn't even trying to get Connor pissed at him when he said that. _Wait, can androids even get pissed?_ Holy fuck, he's talking to a fucking android. 

Gavin wasn't onw to be screaming in the street about dismantling androids, but he didn't particularly like them either. Androids were too weird to him when they first came out. In fact, an android that had somehow gone 'deviant' is how he got his broken nose and a scar going down his face. He was only about twenty when it happened; a kid with a record who had miraculously gotten into the Detroit Police Academy. His peers mostly hated him, except for his core group, made up of a girl named Tina Chen and a guy names Chris Miller. They were the fucking dream team, or at least that's what they called themselves. They always talked about how they were going to get into the DCPD together and have so much fucking fun. That never happened though, because Gavin was the only one who didn't get accepted and he grew to resent them for that later. 

Anyways, it was during some practice in their second year at the academy that he got fucking nailed in the face. Androids were now being used globally for classes like this, to test to see how you could handle a criminal when they were fighting back. They were in some fucking huge ass room with a ton of creepy androids when it happened. He had just been trying to simply pin the android down to the floor and make an 'arrest' when the little circle in the corner of the android's temple flashed red. It pried Gavin's hands off like he was simply an annoying child and fucking started beating the shit out of him, punching randomly at Gavin's face. Gavin was so fucking shocked he could hardly fight back; the metal seemed heavier when it was truly against you. The instructors and Cyberlife employees that were there (to make sure the androids didn't malfunction) had to pry it away from him. Practicing with androids was banned for a whole until the creator of Cyberlife came out with a new, guaranteed safe model. So, he doesn't exactly hate androids, but he has no reason to trust them. Since then, he's never really kept up with androids, and he's kinda surprised how human Connor seems. 

He gets pulled out of his thoughts by a timid voice. "Perhaps if you applied now, they would reconsider. After the Revolution, we lost many officers. We would be thankful to have more officers. I am sure you will also be promoted to a higher rank by the end of the year." Connor says earnestly, smiling brightly, which seemed fucking contagious because Gavin smiles back, too. Something swells in his chest - _something like hope, Jesus fucking Christ_. He knows he's being too optimistic, but hearing someone who's _actually from the fucking DCPD_ say that he could finally fucking make it means the whole fucking world to him. And Connor seems pretty fucking genuine, too. 

"Maybe I'll fucking apply. Anything to make more than minimum fucking wage at a shitty coffee shop that is fucking dying." Gavin tries not to let the hope seep into his voice as he slides his identification card in a slot next to the complex door. It buzzes loudly and they trudge up the fucking disgusting carpeted stairs and up to Gavin's apartment. 

Suddenly, Gavin realizes he's letting a _stranger_ into his _home_. Yeah, its been fine so far; he's been practically _mooning_ over the goddamned android but this could all flip in a second. He could get murdered in his own fucking apartment because he's so fucking stupid. His manager will fucking rip his body out of his grave and scold him for fucking _dying_ on her time. When he unlocks the door he starts trying to think of how to fucking fend off Connor in case he tries anything. The fire escape is rusty and sure as hell to collapse, but it'll work in a pinch. "Ignore the mess, I wasn't planning on having company." 

Connor nods, looking around the apartment curiously. Gavin takes the distraction as a chance to practically sprint to his bedroom to grab the clothes he had accidentally stolen, quickly changing into his disgusting outfit from earlier, minus the jacket because it seems his landlord cranked the heat too fucking high. That, or maybe he's sweating because he's a bit nervous. He scoffs at the implication of him being nervous and shuffling quickly out into the living space. What he finds is Connor sitting on his gross futon, apparently not bothered by the mysterious stains that came with it, petting _Socks_ , an alley cat that has taken to crawling through Gavin's windows and wandering in whenever is pleased. It seems to like Connor, letting him pet him for longer than he usually lets strangers. He scowls at the cat. 

"I told that fucking cat to stay out," Gavin complains, walking over and trading the clothes to pick up Socks, looking him in the eyes. "You're gonna make my landlord have a fucking aneurysm, y'know that?" He says gently to the cat before putting it back down on the futon. Connor looks down at the bag suspiciously and, after digging around it for a few seconds, seems satisfied. 

"Thank you, Reed. I put your clothes over there." He pauses, before continuing, "I hope you do actually apply to the DCPD. I.. I admit t would be pleasant to see you again. Goodbye, Reed." Connor doesn't even wait for Gavin to fully process what the fuck he's saying before getting up, picking up the bag full of his clothes and walking out Gavin's apartment door (which Gavin fucking forgot to close; anyone could've seen the fucking mess he lives in). 

Gavin can only gape before rushing to the door and seeing Connor's retreating back down the hallway. "It's Gavin!" He fucking shouts and now fucking great, his neighbours are gonna complain because he's shouting in the hallway. 

Connor turns around and, visibly surprised, says, "Goodbye, Gavin." 

When he can no longer see Connor, he shuts his door, dejected. He's still got about seven minutes of his break left. He thinks about what Connor says and, without a second thought, gets on his laptop to apply to the DCPD before his break ends. 

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](https://sherlockresidue.tumblr.com/)  
>  **ATTENTION:  
> **  
>  I am in need of someone to proof read my works as I am lazy and also miss mistakes because I will stare at the screen for too long. Ineed some charitable soul who'll take pity on me and help me out. Message me at my tumblr linked above.


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